The hallway was lined with bodies — not dead, don't be dramatic — just mentally and emotionally obliterated dimensional merchants who had crawled through the bureaucratic meat grinder and lived to tell the tale. Barely.
License renewal day. Again.
"Why does this happen every 7,000 universes?" someone groaned from the floor, hugging a signed document like it was their newborn child.
Lawrence, surprisingly alert and ice cream-sticky, was already first in line.
He stood tall, ears twitching, his Void-Carrot tub half-eaten under one arm, license renewal form in the other, 899.999 kilometers of multiversal paperwork now behind him.
He stamped the final page.
THUNK.
The cosmic printer let out a scream and exploded into glitter. The contract was accepted.
Behind him, hundreds of dimensional merchants were submitting their forms one by one, some literally on fire, others twitching, eyes spinning like slot machines. A few were just whispering to themselves, "I used the right pen this time… I used the right pen this time…"
Gilbert had a minor breakdown because he accidentally signed his name as "Gilbitch." Again.
The air was heavy, but the mood was lighter than before.
"At least we survived," one merchant wheezed.
Another groaned, "I still can't feel my left soul…"
Lawrence cracked his knuckles, tail flicking.
"Yeah," he muttered. "We f*cking did."
He stepped out of the licensing department, slow motion, like a war hero walking away from an explosion.
Then—
He stopped.
Turned.
Faced the fourth wall.
Stared straight at you.
---
Lawrence's Message to the Reader
"Oh. You again."
He crossed his arms, ears perked with smugness.
"You probably commented something last chapter like: 'Can we get a scene with Lotus though? 👀' or maybe even, 'That carrot ice cream sounds suspiciously euphemistic.' Yeah. Caught your a** lacking."
He stepped forward. The frame zoomed in dramatically.
"You little gremlin."
He adjusted his collar. "But let's talk real for a sec."
He sighed and sat on a floating clipboard, swinging his legs like a bored god of chaos and bureaucracy.
"You know the guy who writes me? The one who makes me bite people, fight angels, break the fourth wall, and casually get harassed by bunny girls with trauma hormones? Yeah. The author."
He pointed up. "Wanna know something? He's literally a f*ckin' 13-year-old. That's right. My entire personality and glorious existence? Engineered by a sleep-deprived, chaotic, creative soul still figuring out middle school and fiction pacing."
He gave a small nod.
"Respect it."
He kicked his feet. "The kid knows how to write censorship better than most adult Reddit mods, okay? Fckin' legend in the making. And no, I won't reveal his name. That sht's private. Don't be weird."
Then he stood again, pacing like a tired professor mid-lecture.
"You know what's wild? You're here. Reading this madness. Sticking through ice cream riots, multiversal death tolls, and bunny bites. That means something."
He smiled faintly. Genuinely.
"Support small fanfic creators. Seriously. They bleed this stuff. They write after school, in between games, during storms of doubt and 'Is this cringe?' spirals. Give 'em love. Drop a comment. Say 'good job.' That tiny a** comment could be the reason they keep writing."
He winked.
"Oh and, yeah, this is totally an ad. The author paid me in void-flavored ice cream to say all that. Zero regrets."
He pulled out a tiny sign:
> "Support creators. Also try the Webnovel app. Not sponsored. Maybe. Shut up."
Then he did finger guns at the screen.
"See you next chapter, degenerates. And remember… always use the right pen."
---
End of Chapter 14
Author note:I can't believe chatgpt lie I have to report it to the customer support literally to tell them the ai lie often in some commands